The Phoenix: Helgen's Rebirth
by emeraldeyes97
Summary: Story set after the defeat of Alduin. Darian, the Last Dragonborn, wasn't looking for another task this soon after her fight with the World Eater Alduin, yet a letter from the Jarl of Falkreath alters her plans. Tasked with rebuilding the smoldering ruins of Helgen, will she finally find a home? Or will she abandon those she grows to care for under the strain of such a task?
1. Chapter 1

Hi all!

Welcome to my first story! I hope you leave a favorite or a review if you want to see more. I have been playing TES since I was little and I'd like to pay homage to their wonderful game, Skyrim.

As always, I own nothing but my fictional character. All locations and characters belong to Bethesda.

Enjoy!

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Prologue:

The wind stirred the leaves around my feet, an unseen force guiding me along. _At least the leaves knew where they belonged_ , I thought. Leaves has no cares or troubles, simply swept away with the passing of each season. Perhaps I did have more in common with the swirling shades of red and yellow than I wanted to admit. The breeze, though cool upon my skin, carried the unmistakable odor of too-ripe fish. Riften. I hadn't meant to come back here so soon, but my feet had other ideas. Not wanting to set the guards on edge, I stored my bow in my pack and removed my helmet. _No need to cause any more trouble._ Nodding to the guards, I slipped quietly into the city.

Mercifully, most of the residents were still in their beds, though the glow of dawn would soon stir them. I reached Honeyside within a few moments, it's well-oiled doors opened silently as I walked in. Only just remembering to take off my black boots, I stumbled into bed and fell asleep.

Faceless creatures haunted my dreams, the sounds of dragon wings echoed as I raced the endless corridors. A bright light stopped my tracks, voices whispering incoherently. I fell to the floor, not solid as I had thought. Something black and foul started to ooze from the cracks in the stone floor and walls. I let it take me. Echoing thunder rang through my head, drumming and relentless.

With a start, I opened my eyes. My slumber seemed like only minutes, but the bright light streaming through my windows suggested otherwise. And what was that pounding noise? Surely it had not followed into the land of the living? But as I listened again, I realized that it was merely the sound of my poor door being tortured. I grabbed the dagger from under my pillow and slid my feet off the bed, hissing slightly as my bare feet hit the cool hardwood.

Reaching the door, I opened it to reveal a courier. _The typical eager type, I_ mused, half annoyed and half curious. I never knew what their letters might contain. "I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver-your hands only" the courier said, handing me the letter. I thanked him and handed him a coin- those poor couriers get sent to the worst locations. Heading back inside, I decided to read the letter on the balcony, grabbing an apple from the blue pewter bowl on the table. The sea breeze fanned my face gently as I stared off into the distance. In truth, I regretted not spending enough time out here; The world seemed to need me a lot more than my balcony, unfortunately. After adding a slice of cheese to my cut apple, I opened the letter, mentally taking a deep breath.

 _Dear Darian,_

 _I am in need of your services once more. Word has reached me that bandits have occupied what remains of Helgen. I need you to clear them out. Return to me as soon as the task is complete, for there are matters we need to discuss regarding the future of Skyrim_

 _-Jarl Siddgeir_

 _Okay, not too bad_. Bandits were not considered the brightest of foes-I ranked them around frost trolls. The last line concerned me though. Perhaps I was a fool to think that my role as the last Dragonborn would end with Alduin's defeat-that I would be able to start a _normal_ life for myself. Then again, what did I really know about a normal life.

Mentally, I counted the time it would take me to journey from Riften to Helgen. I knew that if I took the south pass through the mountains, I would reach the city in roughly four hours. Based on the sun's position on the horizon, I would guess that it was only a few hours away from dusk, so I would be much better off leaving at dawn tomorrow. That would give me time to gather my supplies and repair my armor. My ebony cuirass had taken a bit of a beating recently, courtesy of a draugr who had not been too keen on _staying_ dead. I would also need more arrows, nor would it hurt to pick up a few more healing potions as well.

After changing into a pale blue dress, I sat on the chair next to my bed, combing my dark tresses. _Blasted draugrs, they always mess up my hair_. Knots lay not only in my waist-length hair, but in my shoulders as well, though those could not be helped at this time. I simply had too much to do.

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Thank you for reading and I hoped you enjoyed! Chapter 2 will be posted soon.

ANH


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: New Orders

With the *twang* of my bow, the final bandit fell where he stood, dropping like a stone. Finally, all was quiet. After taking a moment to relieve the bandits of their valuables, I gathered their bodies into a pile in the woods outside the city. Perhaps it wasn't necessary, but there were too many ashen remains in Helgen, Alduin at his finest. The creatures of the forest would take care of the bandits, their bodies returning to the ground.

It was difficult to think of Helgen without remembering how I was nearly executed. _Wrongfully_ , I added. I did not hold any grudges the soldiers, though. They were simply doing their jobs and could not possibly know the truth. I myself tried not to think on that truth. _It's over_ , I reminded myself, shouldering my pack, now heavier from the bandit's treasure trove. I would do well to sell those in Riverwood, as it was on my way to Falkreath. I preferred Riverwood to Falkreath, so the less time spent there, the better. After all, it was Riverwood's kind residents that took me in after I fled Helgen, namely Alvor and his family _. So many memories of a time long ago_ , I mused. In truth, only a year had passed since the return of the dragons, though it seemed a lifetime. Traveling to Sovngarde and back can do that to a girl.

As I closed the gate, I cast the spell to summon Arvak. Horses tended not to live very long when your owner is the Dragonborn, as I had found out the hard way. They were simply too brave for their own good, picking fights with bears, draugrs, or even dragons. Thankfully, Arvak was already dead. His former master had entrusted his spirit to me while I was in the Soul Cavern. Shivers ran up my spine as I thought of the empty wasteland. All the gold in the world wouldn't convince me to return.

Mounting the pale blue steed, I set off in the direction of Riverwood. The barrage of memories flooded my mind before I had the chance to stop them. There on my left, was the rock that Hadvar-the soldier whom I had escaped Helgen with- and I had hidden behind as Alduin fled the scene of his crime. I had been a very different girl then and often wondered what the old Darian would think of her future self. Would she cast judgement upon her for the things she had done, for what she had seen? I let my mind still for a moment, the pounding of hooves replacing my introspection. No good would come from these thoughts.

"I did what I had to do. And I'm okay with that" I said aloud.

Arvak seemed to agree with me, snorting and tossing his ethereal mane slightly. I smiled at the horse, and saw the gate of Riverwood drawing near. Not wanting to frighten the villagers, I dimounted Arvak, who disappeared after a moment.

Waving a hello to Faendal, I ducked into the Riverwood trader. Removing my backpack as I headed to the counter, Lucan Valerius popped his head up from under the counter.

"Ah, Darian! It's good to see you again. What can I do for you?"

Lucan was a relatively cheerful man ever since I retrieved his golden claw. _If only he knew how much that hunk of metal had changed my life,_ I mused. Setting my pack on the table, I unloaded my wares, mainly jewelry too dull for enchantment and weapons too bulky to carry. Scanning them over, Lucan named his price for the lot and handed over the gold.

"Thanks, Lucan! I'd stay and chat, but I'm wanted by the Jarl."

Lucan nodded and gave his goodbyes as I headed out the door. Before I left, I decided to stop for lunch at the Sleeping Giant Inn. The smell of baking bread and mead wafted through the air as I opened the solid oak door. Sven played a soft tune in the corner, though it was not loud enough to recognize the song. In past days, he might have given me a scowl if he noticed my presence. The marriage of Camilla and Faendal had meant that Sven's affections for the maiden had been tossed to the wayside, the source of his irritation towards me.

Of course, Camilla's affection had not been won by a false letter from him, as he had claimed, but rather in the honest and earnest expression of devotion from the elf. Through time and the love of woman from Windhelm, Sven's scowl had turned to a smile at the sight of me. The woman in question had accidentally let it slip to him that it was I who recommended that she take up residence in Riverwood. The rest was history.

Upon landing at my usual seat at the well-worn bench, I found—once again—that I did not have to place my order. _I am too predictable_ , chuckling to myself. Riverwood had been my favorite lunchtime stop, resulting in Orgnar memorizing my meal: a bowl of leek and potato soup, cooked beef, and a load of crusty bread. And a bottle of mead, of course. I was a Nord after all. Lazily dipping my bread in the soup, I let myself be lost in the soft music filling the hall. Too soon, my meal was finished and I paid Orgnar the 20 Septims for it. Grunting his thanks, I headed out the door

Not wanting to be delayed further, I exited through the same gate I had entered, following the north road instead of the western road that led back to Helgen. Summoning my trusty steed once more, I was soon on my way to Falkreath.

The blue banners greeted me a short while later, the white fog enveloping me as I entered the city. I did not bother dismounting until I had reached the steps of the Jarl's longhouse. Wincing inwardly as Arvak screamed—the sound made when he disappeared—I climbed the steps and walked in.

Siddgeir was sitting in his throne, as usual, though he perked up fractionally as I entered the room. I was always divided on my opinion of the Jarl. He was a cocky bastard, that much was true. Yet he supported the Empire and for that I was grateful. His steward Nenya did a fine job running the hold for him, so it was almost a wash.

"Ah, Darian. You have returned. I trust the bandits are dead?"

"Yes, my Jarl. They will bother Helgen no longer"

"Good. There is a matter that I must speak with you, regarding Helgen. As you know, it has been a smoking ruin for quite some time now. Its ugly and it makes us look weak." He threw up his hands in frustration.

I wondered where this was going. Did he want me to somehow remove what was left of Helgen? Perhaps he wished for me to finish the job and burn it to the ground.

"What would you have me to?" I asked, inwardly regretting ever accepting this task.

"I received a letter from General Tulius a few weeks ago. Apparently, they wish for Helgen to be restored to its former glory. As you know, it is on the border of Cyrodill, which makes it an important for defense and trade. Darian, I need you to rebuild Helgen, whatever it takes."


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to all those who have read this story already!

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Chapter 2: Gifts and Curses

To say I was caught off guard was the understatement of the era. Did I hear him correctly?

"Did you hear what I said?" He demanded, sitting up straighter in his gilded seat.

"Yes, I was just surprised by it. How am I to complete this task? Helgen is abandoned, with most of her villagers dead."

He was a fool. _I_ was a fool.

"The Empire has given me a sum of money for the repairs. I have also instructed my lumber mills to assist you with whatever you need. Getting the citizens to return is your job. Or can you not handle it?"

I hated his tone—how dare he question my abilities?! My inner voice rebelled against my pride. _You don't even think you can do this._

"Of course I can." Inner voice be damned.

"Excellent! Here's the gold, as well as the letter from the Tulius. Oh, and you'll want these. I believe they are drawings of the original layout of the town. If you have any other issues, Nenya will assist you."

Pocketing the items, I wearily left the longhouse. It was far too warm for my liking. Divines have mercy on me… How was I to do this? And why had he chosen me to do this? Surely _anyone_ else was more experienced in town rebuilding. I knew nothing! _You didn't know anything about dragon slaying either, yet here we are_. So now it was encouraging me? Whose side are you on anyway?

One thing was clear to me: I needed some help. Siddgeir had mentioned that his lumber mills were at my disposal, perhaps I should start there. Resolving myself, I ventured over to the Deadwood Lumber Mill. The surly Bolund was busy at work, sawing a log thicker than my waist. He was my least favorite miller by far, though I cannot say that I interacted with millers on a regular basis. Still, he was most unpleasant at the best of times.

"What do you want." The man hadn't even turned around. _Never changes,_ I mused.

"I was told that you could help. As you may already know, I was tasked with rebuilding Helgen."

At this he snorted. "Didn't think a little thing like you could lift a bow, let alone rebuild an entire city."

My eyes narrowed at his words "Don't forget, Bolund, that I know where your allegiances lie. Perhaps you'd like to join Ulfric after all. I hear his soldiers are in great shape these days, from all the 'running for their lives'."

Brief alarm flashed across his face. "You'll need lumber then, huh? How much?"

I handed him the layout of the town. "Is there any way you can estimate based off this?"

This time, his eyes narrowed, though in speculation rather than irritation. "I would have to know how much still stands. I haven't been to Helgen since it was attacked. Tell you what. Make a note of each building's condition and I'll get you the lumber you need."

Knowing this was the best I was likely to get from the man, I thanked him and took my leave.

With my lumber issue resolved, I felt much more confident that this mission could _actually_ be accomplished. However, I knew my greatest challenge lay with getting people back into the city. As far as I knew, only Haming was still living. A few months ago, I had found him and his grandfather in their cabin in the woods. _I wonder if they would both move back to Helgen_. Perhaps I could post fliers in every major towns, asking if any citizens would be willing to relocate, even creating affordable housing for some of the beggars. They could pay their way by rebuilding the town…

A thousand thoughts milled in my head, an excitement arose in me that had not existed in some time. And why not get excited; for once, I was building something rather than destroying it.

The sun had begun to set as I left Falkreath, my boots eager to reach Riverwood before dark. I had thought about staying the night in town, but then remembered Alvor. I had made a promise to him a few weeks ago that I would visit his family, and I was determined to keep that promise. Alvor had always been good to me, ever since that fateful afternoon. Not only had he started me off on my journey, but kept me safe as well.

One year ago…

The sounds of padding footsteps in the above dragged me back to the land of the living. I raised my bruised hand to clear my eyes of the black residue of Helgen, but my arm only made it half-way. I clenched my teeth as lowered it again. _If I wasn't in such bad shape, I would have told you that yesterday was only a nightmare_ , yet here I was muscles strained, head pounding, and a gash on my forearm that probably needed tending to. I fell, rather than slid out of bed. Though I wasn't a large girl, falling bodies make a lot of noise.

The little girl, Dorthe, came running down the stairs and immediately rushed to my side. Normally, the thought of a girl half my size having to help me would have mortified me, but seeing as I could barely move… I was in no position to have any pride left. Dorthe was strong for her size and helped me to my feet. I gasped at the pain rippling through my thighs, but I remained upright, by the grace of the gods. Breathing a thanks to the girl, together we made our way up the stairs, where the rest of the family waited.

I was blushing so furiously that my name should have been Scarlet. Peeking a glance at Hadvar, he looked as if he was unsure whether he should be amused, concerned, or something in between. Either way, I didn't much care. I was indebted to him.

"Glad to see you're still in one piece. I take it you aren't accustomed to combat?"

At Hadvar's musings, I briefly remembered myself blindly hacking away at a Stormcloak soldier with a shortsword that I had picked up earlier.

Somehow, despite the sheer desperation and terror that tinged my memory, I could laugh at myself.

"I must have looked ridiculous"

"Better ridiculous than dead" He amended, tossing an apple. My arms instinctively moved to catch it, yet my brain recognized the pain before my limbs, and the apple hit me squarely in the forehead.

Amazingly, I did not fall over. Even if I my legs would have given out, Hadvar was at my side in the moments after. A laugh rose, unbidden, from my chest. The sheer ridiculousness of myself and the predicament was too much in that moment. My laughter triggered the rest of the family's, as they saw that I was unharmed.

In the days that followed, Hadvar showed me how to release the tension in my muscles, through stretching and other exercised. When I was able to fully move again, I found myself gazing into the smoldering embers of Alvor's forge.

"Have you any skill in smithing?", Came a voice from the grindstone, where Alvor was hard at work sharpening a small handaxe.

"A little, only the basic principles. My father had a book of smithing techniques in his library."

 _My father_. Nope, not today.

"Well then, let's see what you can do"

With that, he handed me an ingot and some leather strips.

"How about you make me a dagger?"

Present day…

As I neared the gates, I thought back my beginnings in Riverwood. I was filled with fondness of those days, even if they were rather rough. Unlike many of the men and women I encountered in my travels, Alvor and Sigrid never seemed to _want_ anything from me. Well, except my help in securing men from Jarl Balgruuf. It was nice to be wanted for me, Darian the girl, instead of Darian the Dragonborn. The smell of a fire brought me out of my reverie—A clan of Khajiit traders camped out near the stone walls. Unlike some of the other races, the Khajiit was amongst the least liked in Skyrim, choosing to camp outside the walls of the cities. I had no qualms with them, and found the stories of Elswyr fascinating. _I would investigate their wares in the morning_. I nodded to them and completed my journey to Alvor's door.

Before I had time to close the door, I heard:

"Think fast!" As an apple shot from the corner. This time, instead of my forehead, the apple hit my blades. Twin apple slices thudded to the ground, the smell of fresh apples filling my nose.

Hadvar.

"HADVAR." An irritated Sigrid rose from her seat and embraced me.

"Don't you mind him, Darian."

I only laughed; It was good to see him again.

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Thank you all again for reading my story! If you have any questions or suggestions, feel free to leave a review!

ANH


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the late update- I've had company for the past few weeks and haven't had much time to write.

THANK YOU THANK YOU to all those who have read my story so far. I will try to make the chapters longer now that the semester is over.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3:

Taking my seat next to Hadvar, I frowned.

"You have a new scar" I noticed, touching it lightly with my fingertips. His eyes shifted for a fraction of a second to the hand on his arm, then back to my face. Cautious.

"Got into a scrape with a Sabre Cat a few weeks ago. I guess it didn't appreciate me trying to hunt 'his' deer. His furs kept me warm while I slept though, so it's not all bad."

At my confused look, he added "I had been stationed outside of Windhelm for a while. Before the battle there."

The sound of clashing metal echoed faintly in my ears, a flash of blonde hair in my peripheral. I may not have been the one to start the war between Ulfric and the Empire, but I was the one to finish it. Yet it gave me no satisfaction—not after all the lives had been lost in the names of red and blue, the dragons and the bears.

When I glanced back at Hadvar, I saw the same tired look in his eyes. Hadvar had led many battles in the Civil War and had lost many friends on both sides.

No one wins in a civil war…

The sound of Dorthe laughing in the room below broke me from my thoughts. The war was over, and I was going to help rebuild Skyrim, for the betterment of her people.

After taking a bite of soup, I turned to Alvor.

"I must admit, it was not only Sigrid's soup and the pleasure of your company that brings me here."

Alvor only arched an eyebrow, which I took as my cue to continue.

"A few days ago, I received a letter from the Jarl of Falkreath, requesting my services. The Empire wishes for Helgen to be rebuilt, to maintain a stronger presence here in Skyrim. Unfortunately, I have no experience in such things. And I've only got lumber. I feel way over my head. I need a smith or maybe even a carpenter to help me. Do you know of anyone like that who would be willing to help?"

The well-worn hand of the blacksmith slowly rose to stroke the full beard on his face, as if working on its own accord. I often wondered if some men grew beards just so they could look more dignified when they stroked their chins…

"I don't know of any smiths with enough spare time for such a task. As for carpenters, I would head to the inn here. I guess a stranger rolled into town a few days ago. Asking around if anyone needed building repairs."

I smiled at Alvor's words. I knew that coming to him with my dilemma was the right choice. Though I still needed a blacksmith to forge nails and other metal workings for the buildings. Perhaps I could talk to Adrienne in Whiterun. With two smiths in Whiterun, she might welcome the extra work.

"What about you, Hadvar?" Piped in Dorthe, her head just poking over the top of the stairs. "You used to work for Papa all the time before you went away!"

I turned to the man in question. He seemed to be deep in thought, slowly picking apart the bread in his hand. _Always the man of action_.

"I suppose I could help. Now that the war is over, I am not needed for daily duties... Perhaps I could take a leave of absence while the city is getting back on her feet." Hadvar said at last, smiling at me.

I smiled back. Hadvar's smile always radiated warmth, something always welcomed in my book.

With a last bite of my soup, I stood up, far too excited to sit down any longer.

"It's settled then. Let's take a trip up to Helgen, today if you can. I'd like to go sooner rather than later, if possible. Clearing out bandits isn't exactly my idea of a good time, so if like to make our presence known before they set up camp again."

 _Three hours later…_

The three of us sat on the porch of what used to be the inn, drinking some mead that we had packed for our lunch. I was amazed that anything survived Aldiun's attack, let alone this well-worn wooden porch.

I ran my hand along the nearby railing, knowing that the hands that had smoothed it over the years would never see their city be restored. So many lives had been lost that day, innocent or otherwise.

"What was its name? The Inn, I mean." I asked, pointing at the crumbling building behind me.

"Helgen Homestead. Not a very creative name, in my opinion. We stayed there while awaiting the… party from Darkwater Crossing that day." Hadvar looked at me apologetically. I know he still felt guilty about my involvement.

"Peace, Hadvar. It had to happen…" Even if I still had nightmares of the black beast, I knew it was my destiny to face him. Who else could have?

That's the thing about destiny. Its finality can be a blessing, a light at the end of the tunnel, per se. It was my destiny to defeat the World Eater. To keep this age alive and knowing there was a way to do just that.

Tricky thing though, was figuring out the _how_ part.

"Well I think it should have a new name. Seems only fitting, I think. New city, new name." said Alvor. He finished his bottle and stood up.

"We better get getting dark and I'd like to get home."

I nodded my agreement, the thick red braid falling loose from its place in my hood _. I'll have to cut this soon_ , I mused to myself.

Though a few cities were diverting enough to venture into, I preferred the wild fields and forests, so a trip to the beautician was not likely. My mother called me her little wildling, laughing as I wandered after my father on his hunting trips.

Their existence marked only by the ink on my backs—the scar on my face.

Five years earlier…

A stick dug into my belly, though I paid it no heed. My quarry, a young doe, drank peacefully from a nearby stream. My father mirrored my position, finger to his lips.

We were hunting in the forest near our home, south of Ivarstead. A warm breeze fanned our faces; the last winds of summer. The leaves were already starting to change their colors and I thought it was the most beautiful time of year.

As an alchemist, my mother had preferred the time between spring and summer, when all the flowers bloomed. Our small home nestled under a mountain would smell of flowers and herbs for weeks. That is, unless she created a mixture incorrectly. Rotten vegetables smelled of sunshine compared to the stench of wrong potions!

It was the sweet smell of mountain flowers that made me think of her. I had been attempting to push her memory out of my mind as much as possible, her death by illness too fresh. Irony, it seems, was a cruel mistress.

 ***ROOOOOOOOOOOAR***

The deer's head shot up, mirroring our own; in as much danger as we were. The bears in Skyrim didn't eat deer, but it would not hesitate to swat at it if the deer got in its way.

My father rolled to his left, rising up on one knee, trying to locate the bear. We were too far from our hut to make a break for it, so our only options were to fight it, or wait until it got bored and left.

I visualized the contents of my pack and quiver: 20 arrows, 3 health potions, and an apple pie. I knew my father had arrows as well, and I hoped it would be enough. Bears could climb trees, but after finally catching a glimpse at it, I knew it would be too heavy for the slender trees.

It was reflexes rather than thought that aided my climb, reaching the top within a minute. My father, in the tree to my left, reached into his quiver and fired the first arrow. Guess waiting wasn't the game then.

He was a patient man and knew the woods better than anyone else I had met in my 15 short years. The patience was a skill passed down generation by generation for the past era, steady as the Treva. As his only child and daughter, it was my skill now as well.

Yet in desperate times, patience is not always the best course of action. Arrows steadily flew from our bows, earning growls from the bear. Peeking down, I saw blood on his face. Bears were notoriously tough, so victory may be some ways off yet.

10 arrows left, I heard a groan. Then a crack. Looking down, I knew it wasn't mine.

 _9 arrows…_

My father was desperately attempting to stay steady.

 _8 arrows…_

The bear turned to my tree, my arrow goading him from my father's tree.

 _7 arrows…_

The back of my head slammed into a branch behind me. I saw stars instead of clear blue sky. The Thief's markings mocking my inability to take down this monster of a bear.

 _6 arrows…_

I missed the bear again, too dazed to aim properly. A final shove from the bear and I tumbled from the tree. The world became black.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Again, so so so sorry for the late posting. I'm getting ready to head home from my semester abroad, which means lots of cleaning and traveling.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4: Stars

My father's eyes merged with the sky above, stormy and still. I sat up, amazed that my body responded as well as it did, considering the fall I had just taken. My head hurt though, a ringing in my ears that wouldn't cease.

He didn't say anything though, just looked me over with concerned eyes. His hands probed my arms, my legs, and finally my back. Content, he turned his back on me. I knew I was to follow after him, though where we were going, I wasn't sure.

Maybe the bear was still alive and hiding. That's probably why he wasn't saying anything. Bears—and animals in general—were just as dangerous when injured. Sometimes more so…

The flowers whispered in the breeze, louder than I'd ever heard them. Where was the bear? And where were we going? The path in front of me sloped downwards and I followed it blindly.

I didn't remember the way back to the house though. Did my father fall too? If so, was he leading me in the right direction?

The trees began to thin and the smell of the lake washed over me like a fog. I heard a distant roar, though I did not pay much attention to it.

As the body of water grew larger in my field of vision, I realized how disorientated I felt. I didn't live near the lake. Why did my father lead me this way? I was not afraid of water nor the creatures that dwelled in her cool waters. Most of the animals were harmless enough, save the slaughterfish. I almost lost a toe once to them a few months ago. Nasty affair.

He stopped at the edge of the water and slowly turned around. Holding out his hand to me, I took it. We stood there for a moment, our backs to the lake.

My father turned slightly, eyes downcast. "It's time", he murmured. I felt hands on my shoulders.

Not hands, claws. They dug into my small shoulders tearing into the muscles and sinews. I screamed, yet it was only a whisper against the wind. I hadn't noticed how loudly it sang- my breaths tuned them out before. I twisted under the weight of the claws in my back, trying to catch one last glimpse of my father, but he was gone.

With one hand on each shoulder, the bear and the dragon had laid claim to my body.

I fell backwards into the lake, as I was drowned by claws, wings, and weeds.

* * *

I woke with a gasp, lungs burning. I was still in the clearing, though the sky was dark. It was only a dream.

How much had passed, I did not know. If the soreness in my back was any indication, it must have been hours at least. I should have known that my body would be protesting.

The fragrant flowers were gone. All I could smell was bear. The vomit that erupted from my mouth even smelled of bear.

I was disgusted. More than disgusted, I was afraid.

A quiet clearing meant only one thing: I was _alone_.

I had been many things in my years—lost, hungry, sick, afraid—but never alone. Until I was old enough to go hunting with my father, my mother and our family hunting dog Patch were my constant companions. Even the birds watched me from their nearby nests.

I rolled onto my stomach, my head spinning. Like my dream, there are no signs of my father, or the bear. My arrows and open pack were by the tree I had fallen from, the former scattered like leaves in the wind. I numbly crawled over to where they lay. It was never a good idea to be without a weapon, especially when you find yourself disoriented after a particularly nasty tree accident.

Once I had recollected my items, I sat with my back to the stupid tree, deep in thought. I had a true dilemma on my hands. Though I was not injured, I knew from experience that trying to navigate anywhere after hurting your head is generally not a great idea. That ruled out trying to wander back home. Besides, it was dark and I was better off staying put while I was protected by the nearby trees.

That only left the matter of my father- my true problem. If I called out to him, I might alert the bear to my presence. But if he was injured and the bear was dead, then there would be no issue.

I decided to wander in a small circle around the copse of trees that I was taking shelter in. After an hour or so, I found no sight, heard no sound of my father.

The anxiety pooled in my stomach, no matter how many times I attempted to release it. I knew something bad had happened here and a small part of me was afraid to find out exactly what. Yet as my fears swelled, a sense of hopelessness rose to meet it. I could truly do nothing but wait out the night—re-examine things tomorrow. With that in mind, I went back to the clearing. Against my better judgement, I climbed the largest tree I could find. If the branches were large enough, I would have no problem staying put until morning. Less likely to be seen, or eaten, while in a tree.

I fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes, whether from the blow to the head or exhaustion, I was unaware. Quite frankly, I did not even care.

* * *

After that night in the tree, I searched for my father for months, investigating every cave and campsite I came across. As the summer turned to fall, then to winter, I knew that I had no chance in finding him. Instead I turned to survival, hunting and fishing in the Rift. Though I was alone now, I did not feel any real need for company. Sometimes I would spend a night or two at the small fishing camps scattered about, but nothing more. These men became friends of mine, giving advice and tricks of the trades. One fair-haired man, called Wes, gave me my first kiss while we sat by the fire.

I liked Wes, but I knew he wanted more than I could give him. Young as I was, I was very certain of who I was. He wanted a pretty wife who would help him wash nets in the morning and help him clean the fish by night. Raise children by the river or maybe even build a small house if we made enough money from our wares.

While part of me wished I could be that type of woman, deep down I knew I was born to wander until I died. The birds were my children, my small log cabin my fortress. Over time I grew bolder in my hunting. Soon I had visited all the holds, even venturing to Dawnstar, though my toes very much disliked the cold. Caves were my favorite though. I never knew what types of treasures of odd creatures I would find lurking in the dark. With the guidance of my parents' wisdom, I grew more confident in the person that I was becoming. It was a bittersweet thing, to think of my mother and my father.

The loss of my family was not the most difficult challenge I had faced, but it was one of the loneliest. Throughout my career as the Dragonborn, there always seemed to be someone on my heels along the way. Serana, Lydia, Farkas, Vilkas, Delphine, Karliah, Brinjolf… The list is longer than the River Hjaal. Skyrim is unforgiving and wild- we are lucky to see the age of fifty—thus I had no grandparents or other relatives who could take me in. The closest relative lived in Hammerfell—my cousin a few years older than myself. Everyone else was gone. And it's not like I was afraid. Fear was no companion of mine. It was the silence that bothered me more than anything.

I thought about my childhood a lot, especially when I found myself of the road through the Rift. Once at an inn a few years past, I overindulged in the local mead and ended up spilling my woeful tale to an elderly man. After my story was through, he sat quietly for a while, digesting my words. Though I hadn't shared this information with anyone before, I fully expected this man to give me some useless advice about things I already knew- that he was sorry my life sucked so badly.

Instead, he told me to hang on to my memories of my parents. To keep their teachings and hold dear to their wisdom they had passed down to me. "It is a gift to remember" he said, nodding with emphasis. "Do not wallow in your sadness. A difficult life is better than none at all." Like an arrow in, his words penetrated my mind. And they've been there for all these years.

Meeting others and hearing their stories have also kept me from feeling too sorry for myself. Compared to some, I had a pretty good life. Though I lost both my parents, they did love me. Love is not rare in Skyrim, but the harsh way of life often results in a hardened atmosphere. While children were not on my map currently, I did wonder what their lives would be like. Through my wanderings, I had collected a small fortune of gold, not to mention homes and other material goods.

Oh, to settle down…

* * *

The sight of Helgen's gates appeared from behind the pines, reminding me of the task at hand. It had been two weeks since Alvor started repairs on the inn. Every so often he would send a courier after me, requesting items that he needed.

"Need more ingots."-Alvor

Alvor's letters were almost always the same: straight and to the point. While it was nice not to receive a lengthy letter, they often weren't as specific as I would like them. A few of my hauls resulted in a frowning blacksmith. "Not enough" he would grunt. Luckily, there were a few mines near Helgen, so I could retrieve more materials if needed. But it was still a pain in the ass. How hard is it to just write the number after your sentence?

"Need more ingots. 7"

Problem solved.

Still, I didn't press the man too much. He was the most capable carpenter I knew, plus I trusted him. On top of that, I knew he would be able to draw more people in to help. Alvor's words may have bene few, but his actions made up for it. His gold and results even more so.

So far, there were five other men working on repairs, two of them married. As part of the employment deal, the men agreed to take up permanent residence with their families. Many of these men were low-born or youngest sons with no land to inherit. One man, Marn, simply wanted to be closer to the lakes nearby. Whatever their reasons for coming, I was glad for it. What good is an empty town?

With the ingots rolling around in my bag, I finally made my way to the gates. They opened after a few moments, groaning slightly. I nodded to the young man and guided my feet to the right side of the city, where the inn stood.

In the aftermath of Aldiun's attack, the inn had been mostly spared, with only parts of the roof and upstairs missing. Thus, it was the ideal starting point for repairs. Not only would it give the workers a place to sleep until the houses could be repaired, but also to eat and commune. Re-building the place seemed to give the men a sense of belonging; a look of pride could be seen on their faces with each swing of their hammers and slice of their saws.

I spotted Alvor sitting at a low table on the inn's porch, drinking a bottle of mead. "Juniper berries. I found this bottle in a cabinet upstairs." He mentioned me to sit in the other chair, handing me another bottle.

"I used to be sweet on a girl from Helgen." A soldier had told me that once, Ralof of Riverwood.

"Ralof told me of this mead. When I was being carted to Helgen" I offered, when Alvor noticed the strange look on my face.

Alvor grunted and took another swig. "Ralof made his choices of his own free will. Now he will have to reap the consequences."

I nodded. Though I did not know Ralof, the people of Riverwood shared enough that I felt I did. Though not all were loyal to the Empire, most realized that Ulfric was nothing but trouble. Hadvar took his betrayal harder than most. The other residents didn't have to read his name off their execution list.

Finishing my drink, I rested my feet against the worn wooden wall. I could still see a few scorch marks on it, but miraculously she still stood.

"What next Alvor? The walls look pretty much done." Pointing my boot to said wall, he nodded.

"The plan is to repair the general store next. Helgen needs to re-establish herself in the trading market."

I agreed with him wholeheartedly. A town with no trade of flow of goods coming in or out was no better than a ruin. And I would not settle for a ruin.


End file.
